


Misconceptions

by whereismygarden



Series: play on, give me excess [11]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Golden Lace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with not having a relationship is that working out the problems is harder. Golden Lace, in cursed Storybrooke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misconceptions

                With winter’s onset in truth, Lacey’s outfits changed to cover more of her skin, but she managed to make them sexy anyway, wearing tight long-sleeved shirts and draping lace and wide-knit layers over them. Seeing her in tight black leggings with a long, clingy skirt was no less arousing, Gold found, than looking at her legs bared by a short sundress. It made undressing her a more complicated process, and she was less likely to kneel in the grass and use her mouth on him when the grass was brown and icy instead of green and soft.

                Still, winter had its perks. When she came into his shop, sometimes there were little melting flakes of snow in her brown curls, and more red than usual in her cheeks. Her skin would be cold to the touch, and she would shrug off her coat and hang it by the door, slinging her backpack to lie under it. She was more likely to touch in cold weather, when summer had made her complain of being sticky. Once, they did it against the counter after he’d turned out the lights and prepared to lock up: she’d simply grabbed him by the tie and pulled him against her. Afterwards, she’d held him, put her warmed face against his neck and simply stood quietly. She had jerked away, faking a yawn, when she realized, pulling her skirt back to normal and making some sneering comment. He had responded in kind, giving her a swat on the rump and avoiding the thought that he would have liked to kiss her.

                There were more important things to worry about than Lacey French, anyway: the Mother Superior had been conniving with the DA, trying to push through some sort of sumptuary tax. He had found a copy of the proposed bill and actually bothered to go to council meeting to argue with the self-righteous holy woman, who smiled sweetly and spoke from a poisoned heart. The tax was like a weight hanging over half the businesses he owned or rented, and would be even heavier on the residents of Storybrooke, who, for a small town, liked their smokes and drink and other vices.

                Meditation on the nature of the citizens would get him nowhere, not when the mayor had told him that he needed to prove that he was more than just a leech on the town. Never mind that his rent was fair, he followed the law (the important bits, anyway), and paid his taxes.

                So when Lacey breezed into his shop, shaking half the water in Maine out of her hair and onto his wooden floor, he only grunted and tossed her a roll of paper towels from under the sink. She tore some off and ran them over the floor with her booted foot, giving him an irritated look.

                “You can be off, dearie,” he said dismissively. “I need to think.” She raised her eyebrows, took a textbook out of her backpack, and wandered off into a corner where he couldn’t see her. He tried to return his focus to the noxious bill in front of him could be prevented from joining the rest of Storybrooke’s laws. The town never changed: crime rates were stable, and fairly low. Business wasn’t booming (for most), but it wasn’t failing. There was no reason, and he knew the nuns’ scheming leader must have some plan. That he couldn’t see it vexed him. He slammed the folder shut and tried to spot Lacey.

                “What are you doing?” he asked shortly, too vexed to be polite, even to her. She emerged from his shelves with a biology book tucked under her arm and an indulgent expression on her face.

                “Finished pouting?” she asked. He snorted and handed her the folder.

                “This law means no good for you,” he said, and she flipped through it, brows drawing together.

                “All the money they collect goes to charitable organizations in Storybrooke? What, the animal shelter and the convent are sponsoring this?” Gold twitched, snatching it back. She winced, shaking her hand.

                “Ouch, watch it. You nearly gave me a papercut.” He barely heard her, too busy circling the offending sentence and starring it with the nearest pen. “What’s got you all hot and bothered?”

                “The convent is a charitable organization. Yeah, right,” he sniffed, but felt the tension leave him. “No wonder our dear Mother Superior is so keen on this one.” Lacey smiled smugly at him, perching on the edge of his desk and giving him what was almost a fond look, almost a softening of her hard blue eyes.

                The bell over the door jangled with the entrance of Mary Margaret Blanchard, newly qualified schoolteacher, and Lacey whipped her head around, narrowing her eyes. Gold could see her shoulders draw up, the line of her body tightening. She wasn’t like that around him anymore, he realized: she was still snippy and tended to look at him down her small nose, but it was more in jest than it had been the first time she’d come into the shop.

                “Hello,” Miss Blanchard said uncertainly, looking askance at Lacey’s position on Gold’s desk, but then she blinked, turned, and brightened. “I’m here to do a fundraiser for the schools. Would you like to donate to the athletic booster?” His first reaction was to sneer at the idea of encouraging more children to run around puffed up about their physical abilities, but he remembered he was supposed to be proving himself a member of the community, and what was more involved than supporting the schools.

                He gave Miss Blanchard a check, and she tucked it away carefully, thanking him earnestly and bidding Lacey good afternoon. Lacey raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together, giving the other woman a slow, impolite once-over. Miss Blanchard’s eyes widened under her scrutiny, and she gave Gold a hard look, as though he was responsible for Lacey’s actions, before leaving.

                She was on edge now, leg jittery, short painted nails tapping the edge of his desk irritably. He reached slowly to take her hand, but she didn’t notice, and hopped off the desk with a huff to stalk back to her things, stowing her book and donning her coat again.

                “See you, Gold,” she said, flippantly, walking out with a stiff back, and he wondered how the unassuming, quiet schoolteacher had managed to upset her.

                The next time he saw her, it was outside of one of the town’s few small clubs, whose owners must be rejoicing over the failure of the sumptuary bill. Loud music, (fast, frantic, dancing music) blared from the doors which stood ajar. Lacey staggered up to him on heels, in a dress too short for the cold, and sang along with the music, right into his face.

                “What happens when you lose everything? Just carry on with a grin, get yourself back in the ring?” To his surprise, her breath was clean of beer or spirits, smelling like spices and some unpleasantly sweet candy flavoring. She fisted her hands in his coat and half-dragged him against the wall, reaching for his waistband. Any other day, he would have been happy to let her continue, drunk or no, but the wild look in her eyes told him that she wasn’t all the way in her right mind. He pushed her off, a little roughly, and caught her wrists.

                “Lacey, no,” he said, noting her heavy breathing. “Calm down for a night, will you? Just go home and watch a movie and paint your nails or something.” She gave him a stricken look, wrenching her hands away from him, and then lowered her eyes and walked away with her back very straight and head high. He leaned his head back against the rough brick of the wall and wondered what exactly was wrong with her lately.

                But, it wasn’t his place to worry about Lacey. If what he wanted wasn’t a rough shag in an alley, she would just have to get over it, and her pride could keep her company instead of him.

**Author's Note:**

> This installment's lyrics come from Patrick Wolf's "Accident and Emergency."


End file.
